For the Sake of the Occasion
by PoeticJustice22
Summary: Set after the sixth book, Hogwarts has closed, and a reunion ball for the late students of the legendary school is being held in a large, old hotel near London. Harry, Ron and Hermione, still contemplating on how to obtain the Horcruxes, decide to join for the sake of the occasion. However, many unexpected things happen this particular evening... Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione. Rated T.
1. Chapter 1: Slurrybeer and Acidshots

**Chapter 1 – Slurry-beer and Acid-shots**

The evening offered dance and lively faces in the light of the shining torches that had been placed along the walls throughout the hotel. The great hall where the celebration was held had been decorated with the old House flags, colors and mascots, filling out the large – and otherwise empty – room with spirit and joyfulness, yet – given the circumstances – also a rather melancholic form of nostalgia. There was no more Hogwarts, after all. Apart from the memories, this was all that were left from the old school, and perhaps even for the very last time. People were aware of this fact; it was obvious, yet they also seemed aware that it wasn't a "funeral" and by celebrating and having a good time, they could pay tribute to a great era that once was – without feeling too gloomy or shameful.

Harry was one of them. Or at least he tried to join the celebrations, though presently his head was preoccupied with much more pressing matters. He had once again been able to reconcile with his own inner green monster, when he saw none other than Dean Thomas entering with Ginny Weasley under his arm. Harry had not rushed at him; somehow he could not see that it was necessary. Not tonight. No, there might just be a better solution. He could not avoid Ginny forever.

Ginny was not particularly enthusiastic either, when she spotted the dark-haired, bespectacled boy of her heart standing in a corner in the far end of the hall, making ominous countenances. Clearly, because of her 'reunification' with Dean, but they both had to move forward – Harry knew that as well as her – and at a perfectly normal gathering for the remaining pupils of Hogwarts, she might as well try to get on with both parties. Her heart was with Harry, and it would always be, no matter what, but since she could not be with him in the way she wanted, she had to resort to other means: Jealousy. It wasn't perhaps the best way to start out, but she knew that she had to talk to him sooner or later, preferably before the party was over. _He_ would not come to _her_ – that she knew – so she would indeed have to come to him.

Harry watched Ginny at a distance. Her eyes were directed towards the band which played mournful love songs, and she didn't even look towards Harry's direction. His eyes glided downwards. She had changed during their time apart. She had become a bit higher and gotten curves. Her wavy, long hair glowed more reddish than ever and she wore a beautiful dark burgundy-colored dress that complimented her hair and pale, freckled skin exceptionally. However, what struck Harry the most were the sparkling diamond earrings dangling from her earlobes and the _ring_ on her finger. His heart skipped a beat, and he eyed the arrogant, haughtily grinning Dean, who went around and shook hands with all and sundry. Harry caught a glimpse of his flirting eyes towards the girls from the school with whom Dean once (at that time still in a relationship with Ginny) had "talked" tremendously.

"If only Ginny could see how stupidly that prick is behaving!" Harry thought tight-lipped, but he was suddenly snatched from his glooming thoughts: A rather frantic Hermione with her hair all messy and her new dress wrinkled stood in front of him, blocking his view.

"Have you seen Ron?" she whispered exasperated through clenched teeth without bothering hiding the obvious annoyance in her voice.

"Why, yes," Harry said, still a bit baffled at the sight of her. "He is dancing with Bella Crumble – the girl from Flourish & Blott's. He invited her to the party when he was down in Diagon Alley to retrieve the original release of 'Detoxification Potions for Novices'. Look. They're dancing together over there …"

Hermione followed his finger towards a closely entwined couple near one of the speakers. Harry turned his head back towards Hermione and watched her enraged expression change into a flustered one; her wide eyes flashed, while her mouth opened and closed, and in the next moment she turned away from Harry and the sight of Ron and Bella and marched angrily out of the Hall. Harry looked puzzled after her, contemplating what had just happened, and understood only then what Hermione was so irate about. He looked towards Ron who threw himself close about Bella, as an octopus with its eight arms. Clearly, _he_ had not noticed anything. Harry knew that this was a problem that he would no longer be able to solve for them, at least not for the moment, so he shrugged and reiterated his eyes towards his prior 'engagement': Ginny and Dean. They still sat at a table, but now, all of a sudden, Ginny had placed herself so she could look directly towards Harry.

He had always been able to make out Ginny's facial expressions when she was out to something, but this time it was confusing. A moment ago she had not deigned to look at him, and now she starred intensely at him as if she badly wanted to come in contact with him. Harry had, on the other hand, no desire to make any small talk, and certainly not with Ginny, since he knew what it could lead to. Guilt, pain … desire. Desperate to get his minds off how effective Ginny's eyes and red lips were on him even at this distance, he reluctantly pitched his thoughts onto something completely different – something he ever since Dumbledore's death and Snape's betrayal had had in his head: How he should obtain the last of the Horcruxes. He stood for a moment with fists clenched, however he quickly came to better ideas. Honestly! Joyous and happy people walked past him, so why couldn't he also take advantage of the situation and relax a little bit – for a change?

Alright. Need to relax. Relax. _Relax_ … How? The first thought that came to his mind was – alcohol. Of course! He strode determinately towards the bar and ordered one of Fred and George's magic wonders: Acid-shots! He took one mouthful and coughed strongly as the burning, neon-green liquid slid down through his throat, feeling like he was swallowing barbed wire. He grimaced and looked at his glass. He really didn't want to know how the twins came up with this stuff. Yet, it kept him somehow occupied and distracted him momentarily from his thoughts.

Unexpectedly, he heard a loud and all too familiar, dopey voice nearby talking animatedly. Ron had finally let go of a somewhat disheveled Bella, who had almost fallen asleep over Ron's renewable sermons on the Quidditch matches, in which he had heroically participated at Hogwarts. Harry shook his head as he watched Bella collaring a reeling Ron with an iron fist and confronting him, and thought it was best if he quickly withdrew from the anticipated scenery. He moved unnoticed in the direction of Luna and Neville, who sat alone at one of the tables, a bit remote from the more animated festivities.

"Pumpkin juice, my lord?" Neville giggled with a gargling sound, as he spotted Harry and handed him a filled glass, in the process spilling most of its content down his sleeve and on the floor. Lunas cork-necklace rattled when she chuckling shook her blond head and leaned in to whisper into Harry's ear: "I poured some love potion into his juice," She eyed Neville, who seemed to have serious trouble getting up from his chair, and smiled softly. "You know, just for the fun of it – and now he is totally intoxicated with Romilda Vane. It is a shame she's always the one to suffer, right?" Luna laughed heartily, and Harry couldn't help but joining her. He looked towards Romilda who stood in a corner – blissfully unaware of Neville's frantic and most likely unrequited infatuation with her – and talked with Cho Chang and her friend Marietta Embridge. Almost all from his old year group had turned up, and as the hotel was large enough to contain at least three full-grown dragons, many other pupils – young as well as old – had appeared to meet and talk about the good old days at Hogwarts.

Harry couldn't help thinking about all those who had had to leave the school early, and where they were to go now when the best school of Witchcraft and Wizardry that he knew of was closed. General Muggle-education could not possibly be considered; he knew all too well how difficult it was to hide one's powers in such a long time – and especially among Muggles. Besides, who could call themselves a wizard or a witch if no one had even had the proper education? Or rather – who could not?

Just then, Harry's thoughts were once more interfered, as Ron came staggering towards him, looking more and more stewed for every minute.

"Bella's going home because she says she's tired," he told sulkily and snorted. "And I really don't understand why..! I mean – the festivities have only just begun!" He quickly swilled some liquid, which in Harry's eyes had no resemblance to pumpkin juice whatsoever, and once again stumbled towards Bella, who was still sitting at a table with her arms crossed, looking rather displeased. Just as Harry had given him a resigned shrug and turned his back on him, the air broke with a resounding SMACK followed by a rather loud BUMP, exactly as if someone had been slapped and then had hit the hard wooden floor. Almost everyone in the room turned around to see where the sound came from; asking what had happened, and Harry and Luna were the first to run towards the familiar sound of a wailing person in the middle of the dance floor. Their guesses were confirmed when they saw who was sitting on the floor, rubbing one tender and flushed cheek while a huffy Bella Crumble was striding out of the hall with determined steps.

"I simply asked her whether I should follow her home," Ron said with a defeated, croaking voice as Harry and Luna exchanged glances, then stepped forward and helped a rather weakly Ron up from the floor.

"Maybe you should stop with the drinking - just for tonight, Ron," Luna said as a reproachful remark, and Harry couldn't agree more when Ron's reeling head took a drastic move towards the floor for the second time that night.

A few minutes later, Ron woke with a gruff sound after having received several amounts of cold water into his pale face. Harry and Luna stood silently around him, watching him with concerned faces. All the guests had continued with the dancing, talking and eating long ago, and no one had taken further notice of Ron. They had become accustomed to his bizarre behavior lately. Even Neville had taken the time to comment on Ron's state before he himself went cold in the middle of the dessert (in this case pudding), surrounded by five drunken goblins. However, it worried Harry that Ron was acting like this. It wasn't like Ron – no matter how foolish he could behave at times – this just wasn't like him, and Harry had a faint idea why.

"Where is Hermione, by the way?" Ron asked out of the blue, as if he suddenly realized something – or rather someone – was missing.

"Hermione went a long time ago, Ron, but you were so engrossed by Bella and kept drinking that – that awful stuff – I really don't want to know what it was – so I didn't want to tell you that she went," explained Harry (and added in his head: "Or rather HOW she went"), looking a little apprehensive at Ron's now bleary-eyed, almost yellow face.

Ron looked down at the floor with a shameful, rather worn out expression on his face, as he nodded, "Slurr.. Slurry-beer."

"What?"

"It was Slurry-beer I drank", he murmured again, and Luna immediately took a few steps back as his face began to switch to violet. "Fred and George have sold it the entire evening, and they seemed to have so much fun so I – well, I just thought, 'Bloody hell, why can't I also try it and have a little fun for once?' and so I drank it and –" Ron suddenly grimaced, clutching his stomach in wretched pain. "Oh, Merlin's beard – my stomach! I should NEVER have drunk it!"

"Well, I think that's why it's called 'Slurry', Ron," Luna noted with a sympathetic look and shrugged knowingly towards Harry.

Ron complained immensely for a long time, and it was only when Luna had infiltrated the "antidote" at Fred and George's – a blue-striped potion with an incredible stench – and given it to Ron that he began to get a normal skin color again. He kept asking for Hermione, but no one had seen her since she had left the party. Sullen and crestfallen he told that he would go to bed early in the hope of awakening the next morning without a hangover, which at present seemed quite unlikely. Harry and Luna could only support this idea; after all that had happened this evening, they thought he wouldn't find the party nearly as joyful again, anyway, and that a good night's sleep couldn't do much harm.

Just as Ron had closed the door to his room, someone knocked hard on it. Though still a bit groggy, he managed to gather himself and slowly opened. Outside was a furious Hermione with unruly hair sticking out from her once elegant hairdo and with a deadly glare in her eyes. Though surprised at first, Ron couldn't help smiling at the sight, but he quickly got the better of himself and instead nervously bit his lower lip; Hermione did not seem to be in the mood for Ron's usual silly excuses.

**A/N: If possible grammar mistakes or foul syntaxes should occur, I do apologize. English isn't my first language, so please bear over with me. And please review this chapter and tell me what you think. Thanks.**

**And don't worry; there will be another chapter.. sooner or later ;)**


	2. Chapter 2: Ron's unsuccessful evening

**Chapter 2 – Ron's unsuccessful evening**

Hermione stared angrily at Ron, who for a moment didn't know what to say.

"Please, explain it to me, Ron," she said, lightning shooting from her eyes. "What exactly did you do together with this Bella Crumble at the party?"

"We just – danced, Hermione," Ron muttered, even though he knew it was a lame excuse for behaving like he had done. He couldn't look Hermione in the eyes. He knew how angry and wounded she had been that he once again had avoided her and instead had invited another girl – a girl he hardly knew – to the dance.

"I heard from Harry that you had all the waltzes and smooch dances together – the whole evening! How could you, Ron? I thought –" She stopped herself, quickly pressing her lips together with a regretful look, wringing her hands.

Ron, looking more flustered than ever, hardly knew how to overcome the sudden, excruciating silence between them. It filled out the otherwise rather large room, and suddenly he had trouble breathing. Swallowing hard, he fingered the tight collar at his neck, trying to relieve some of the pressure on his dry throat, but it didn't help a bit. Then he realized Hermione's sharp eyes were on him, following his moves nervously. He gave a strained smile, trying to relax, still not knowing how to save himself from this. Sometimes, he wondered, it was easier fighting Deatheaters than dealing with Hermione. For a second there, he even considered which situation he would rather be in right now. Ironically, the great majority was rooting for the Deatheaters.

However, she was the one to break the long silence, sighing heavily.

"Ron. I know we've have been through this ordeal more than a few times, and it always ends up with one of us walking away and the other one left crying in some corridor." She eyed him, then looked away, murmuring softly, "I hope we can somehow change that this time." Ron kicked himself mentally. He knew she really meant that _he_ was the one always hurrying away from the scenery, while _she_ was the one left crying alone. He was such a coward.

She looked at him with thoughtful eyes before she continued.

"I know it's much to ask, because we can hardly have a normal conversation without making a scene or getting emotional, but I _am_ your friend. Friends confide and criticize. They make up and forgive." Her voice had been unusually soft while she spoke, now her flashing eyes gave her away. "Yet it's hard maintaining that status when you all of a sudden – and without telling me – pull a total stranger into your drunken arms at a dance where it's all about Hogwarts – o_ur_ past. You, me and Harry! Of course, I knew Lavender would be here. Why, I even considered the possibility of Krum or MacLaggen turning up …!" At this, Ron shot her an indignant look, but she continued unaffected. "And I am well aware that we've been very close and secluded since we've set out to find the Horcruxes, it's given that we want to seek others company for a change. I just never thought you would find such an – _intimate_ one – and so quickly!" By this point, Hermione's hair had sprung from its pins and fallen to her shoulders, her cheeks were hot and her eyes looked more aggrieved than before. Ron could hardly remember a time where she had looked more beautiful than right now – which made it all the more harder to say what he really wanted to say. Then, as he heard another sharp intake of air from her, he knew he had to say _something_ – _anything_.

"Listen, Hermione," Ron cut in, hoping to fix the situation. "About tonight … Don't you get jealous because of me. I'm not worth it. I'm just such a blooming idiot not to think of you tonight – which isn't true really," he rushed to say, feeling it coming out all wrong, as usual. "I think of you – a lot. In fact, it's all I ever do now when Hogwarts is finished and Voldemort is out there with his bloody followers everywhere. I only think of how we can be safe and hope that it could all be over soon, so we can be together again as we were before." He sought out her eyes. "Well, not exactly as we were before …" Involuntarily, he felt a blush creeping up his cheeks and quickly fixed his stare on his feet. He felt like a little boy saying things he shouldn't say.

He finally looked up, not knowing what would be next, but was surprised to see that her gaze had gone remote. Suddenly the room went cold, he shivered slightly, and even though he felt like he was suffocating, he'd never felt more distant from her than right now. It scared him.

She sighed. "Ron, I don't think – I simply don't think this will work anymore," she said, her voice broken.

"What – what do you mean?" he asked alarmed, forgetting his own remorseful state for a second.

"This. Our friendship. Our – relationship. It is not because I don't –" She bit her lip, her mind frantically searching for the right words, yet nothing that came up seemed to be good enough to make Ron understand. Nothing she could say would be good enough for Ron. He just stood there; eyes saying so much and yet so little, and she felt unable to maintain just one pure emotion for more than a couple of seconds before another one took over. It was rather frustrating to say the least. Anger didn't help the result – it never had – yet it had been their strongest ally in their previous arguments, making everything much easier to cope with … for a minute or two. It was the feelings afterwards that were the hardest. No matter how many times they were reconciled after a fight, there was always something left unresolved between them that she couldn't put her finger on. Perhaps she knew deep down … yes, perhaps she did, and it irritated her immensely, because even though she had been an excellent and articulate student her entire life, _this_ of course wasn't as easily conveyed as she would like it to be, and the older she got the more she started feeling a bit of a cliché. Now they were grown-ups, yet they still behaved and fought like children in each other's company. It shouldn't be more difficult now than then, still, something had changed during the evening. This time, she was afraid of the result, no matter how it would change things, and her rational mind hadn't been able to think of any other solution than to somehow explain the matters to Ron and end it (whatever 'it' was) before it all got too messy or bloody, so to speak. It was a little ridiculous really and she wanted to laugh at herself; at her little planning and logic reasoning of a somewhat absurd and hopeless situation, but she couldn't. Not now. Perhaps in thirty years or so, when she could look back, wondering how fast her youth had passed her, but not now.

Well, this was going well, Ron thought, feeling powerless as always when he argued with Hermione. Edgy, he scratched the back of his head, trying to figure out Hermione's current expression. Her dark eyes seemed watery, clearly there were sadness and hurt to find in them, but she also looked incredibly exhausted. As was he, he realized, then mentally kicked himself for being such a damn quitter. This was Hermione, for crying out loud! He couldn't possibly quit on her or let her down – especially not now.

Her current silence would have killed him if it wasn't for the constant and nerve-racking battle between his mind and heart and body. Clear to say, he was one big mess! He wanted nothing more than to touch her and run away from her at the same time. He wasn't sure how she would react if he did something, so he decided – for the better of it – not to. If only she would say something – _do_ something. Once was a time where it wasn't so hard to find a way or an excuse to yell and bash and find fault with one another, even the smallest of things. Now, there was just silence. And beneath that fine skin, old feelings hidden away for many years were once again brewing – and exhausting her as well as him. If only he knew a way to relieve the pressure on both of them without complicating things more.

"Hermione, I –"

"No, Ron, don't."

"But I want to know what is wrong –"

"This, Ron! This is what's wrong! We just can't go on doing this!"

"What?"

"Fighting. Hurting each other."

"But we always make up eventually. You know we do."

"I know, Ron, but I'm afraid that it won't be like that this time. Something has changed tonight. We've become … adults. And anyway, I'm too tired to keep on this constant battle."

"It's not like we fight like we're enemies. It's not that kind of disagreement –"

"Then what is it?"

"I don't know!"

"Ron, it's not like that I don't like you. You're my best friend, you know that. Harry is too, but this just doesn't work any longer. It's not – healthy."

"What do you mean?"

"Can't you see? Harry will be left with nothing, if there is anything going on between us … he'll become vulnerable – and we will too."

"That's owlshit, Hermione! You know he's not dependent on us like that. He's not a child; he can manage on his own!"

"How can you be so sure, huh? We've always been there. We needed each other more than we care to admit, I think, and we still do. Friends need each other in those situations, but if you're more than friends, you – you compromise one another – and you'll not be able forgive yourself. I won't do that."

"When the heck have you come up with all this? Have you completely lost your senses? You know that some of our closest friends have gotten together on the basis of friendship at first, they fought side by side, risking both their lives, and they're practically off getting engaged and having kids now, so I really don't have any idea of what you're rambling on about!"

"Ron, it's not like that. _They_ are not like _us_. We're special, you, me and Harry. We've been through worse things than any children ever have and we've survived so far. Because we are _friends_. Nothing more. But in order to stay alive – and focused – we must not compromise ourselves. We cannot risk having more reasons for getting killed or losing people we love. That's why Harry broke up with Ginny. He didn't want to risk her life, nor have it on his conscience –"

"Screw the conscience! All we ever face are dilemmas and making fatal choices we don't like. That doesn't mean we have to go completely without love the rest of our lives! Those we love know this! They know the risks and they accept them. However, I don't believe for a second that Harry wouldn't throw it all in the ocean and take back Ginny if he wasn't so damn self-righteous at times. But I do believe he would – without blinking. He loves her more than anything, you know that, and I know that now – even though it hasn't been an entirely pleasant acceptance. Actually, I envy him."

"Stop it, Ron."

"But I do."

"Stop it."

"I don't want to stop –"

"If you don't stop right now, I'm gonna bring up all the girls you've been smooching with behind our backs at Hogwarts! When we hardly ever saw you, because you were screwing some random wench somewhere, not even thinking about Harry and me, if we were all right or anything … I don't think I could ever forgive you for that. Not even now. Especially not now, when you of all people bring friggin' Bella Crumble to the reunion ball! I'd rather you had gone with that stupid, little hussy Lavender Brown!"

Ron was staring at her. Through the shallow heaving of Hermione's chest, only silence and utter shock conveyed between them. She hardly knew how those words had come out of her mouth, but frankly, she didn't want to know – she didn't want to care. She just wanted the anger to once again consume her; to get back on Ron, however unjust it might be, and let him feel the same pain she had felt for so many years now. She knew the minute the anger subsided; the pain would once again flow back into her and make the situation – the very one she had hoped to prevent from happening – even worse.

After several minutes of unbearable silence she dared to look into Ron's eyes, finding only what she had been hoping to provoke: Hurt and anger. Yet, she didn't find any satisfaction in it. Instead she felt a wave of shame and guilt wash over her, nearly choking her, and she stumbled slightly backwards, surprised at her own reaction to seeing his face.

"I – I better go – now. It's late – and – uh", she stammered, clasping her throat, feeling sick.

Hermione stumbled towards the door, hardly noticing the hot tears streaming down her blushing cheeks, and tried not to think about anything. Yet the image of Ron's face; the piercing eyes sick with pain and anger and shock kept emerging in front of her, blocking her vision and making her head go dizzy. She bumped into the door, too tired to straighten her back and lift her head up high and walk away with dignity. She had none left. She had hurt the one person she loved more than anything else. And now she had failed.

It was then she felt hands upon her arms, turning her around, finding their way up to the sides of her face, soft fingers pulling her upwards and into a kiss. It had all seemed like one swift, desperate motion, passionate and tender at the same time, yet in her mind she played it over and over again in slow motion, as Ron moved his lips over her burning skin. She had never felt so real. She shivered, now sensing his entire body being pressed forcefully up against hers, leaning on the door for support. His lips didn't leave hers and she realized that she had started reacting long ago; kissing him back just as passionately and longingly. How natural it was! How utterly, painfully wonderful it was! She felt like crying and screaming. At that moment, she didn't think she would ever want to do anything else for the rest of her life than just be kissing Ron; to be in his arms and to be loved by him. How safe it was. Tears kept flowing down her cheeks; however the cause had much changed now. He kissed her cheeks, tasting her tears, while whispering words fueled with love and passion in her ears, but also regret and sorrow for his own conduct and their mutual hurt. As his tears mixed with hers, she clung to him, afraid that he would disappear from her, even afraid to speak and tell him how sorry she was herself. She wanted to – oh, how she wanted to, now more than ever, but she knew a thousand apologies wouldn't be nearly enough to mend the wound she had caused. Now as much a wound on her as on him, even though he might have forgiven her already. She had not forgiven herself, however. She realized her conduct couldn't be excused, nor the words be retracted. Ron loved her and she loved him, but if she couldn't forgive herself for hurting him, she couldn't love herself, and in the end not feeling worthy of his love. No, she couldn't let this happen! She couldn't take it in. With her last will of strength she managed to tear herself away from Ron, who reluctantly let go of her and looked at her confused.

"No – I – I-I can't, Ron," she sobbed, hands clasping her mouth. Her eyes and heart filled with terror, feeling she had just committed a crime, that she had torn herself away from his actions of love, but also actually allowed her unworthy, filthy self to be loved.

"Hermione – what –"

At the sight of his worried, loving eyes and the sound of her name on his lips, recalling how soft the latter had just felt on her skin, she felt like knives were running through her heart, and in a strike of panic she turned around, flung the door open and ran out of the room, and away. Away from Ron.


	3. Chapter 3: The silver ring

**Chapter 3 – The silver ring**

The whole evening, Harry had been watching Ginny sitting quietly by herself at a table in the corner of the hall while Dean was busy flirting in the most sickeningly way with a bunch of silly, giggling girls (who obviously were incredibly dim since they fell for his slick charms so quickly). However much Harry hated to see Ginny paired with Dean, it pained him even more so to see her being witness to Dean's shameless behaviour towards other women, although she hid her knowledge of this well. Whenever Dean (the Slimy Bastard, Harry added) once in a while came back to her table and dared lay a finger on her or whisper sugary words in her beautiful ear, while she plastered a smile of a dutiful fiancé on her face, the green monster in Harry's stomach roared dangerously more than a couple of times, and he tried desperately to keep it down by pouring down more Acid-shots. However, the alcohol 'ironically' didn't make him more reasonable nor gave him the guts he needed to confront Dean – or her, in the matter of fact. No, instead he just became good old-fashioned drunk as an owl, which he perfectly well knew held no advantage for him whatsoever.

Reeling more heavily against the bar he coughed down his eleventh drink, while Fred and George looked on from the other side, eyed each other and snickered.

"Uhm, Harry? Do you want to stop now or should we just give you the rest of our supply for the evening?"

Harry snorted a response in an unsuccessful try to sound insulted, looked groggily over his shoulder at the 'loving' couple for the umpteenth time and emptied his twelfth glass in one draught and made a grumpy sound. It wasn't just the alcohol now; he was starting to get real damn sick at the sight of them snuggling together. Maybe he should just give up altogether and go to bed while he still had his pride and leave her and Dean forever in matrimonial peace. He couldn't bloody well go challenging him in a duel now! He was more drunk than he ever remembered being before and he couldn't rely on the twins or Ron or Hermione (wherever they were) to help his drunken self up if he made a scene or fell or passed out. He had gotten himself into this state of idiotic mindlessness and he didn't want anybody's help or pity for that matter (admittedly, deep down he _did_ want the attention of a certain person). Oh, well, why even bother? What's the point anyhow? Ginny was with Dean now. Harry had practically thrown her into his arms since he broke up with her.

Through the haze of his self-pitying rambling he suddenly saw something red coming towards him and before he really had any time to register who or why or managed to push himself off the bar counter and smooth out his pitiful appearance, Ginny stood before him in all her glory; her closeness only intensifying her beauty that he had generously appreciated at an observant, yet blurry distance since she came in.

"Good-evening... Harry."

Much to his bewilderment, Ginny had offered him her delicate hand in an utmost professionally manner; her face revealing nothing about the current state of her emotions. At first, Harry only stood there, looking from her unreadable, breathtaking face to her outstretched hand in front of him with a confused expression plastered on his face. Finally the alcohol seemed to have a decisive effect on him, and without thinking or assess the hypocrisy and the consequences of what he was about to do, he gently took her hand in his, being tantalizing slowly and careful in order to savour every fibre of her as their skin made contact. And it was simply like – _fire_.

He wasn't sure if the world had stopped turning or if they were the only two people in the world just then, but he was almost certain that he saw something flicker in Ginny's brown eyes; some hidden emotion stir in her so far motionless face, and her sharp intake of breath, as he slowly lifted her hand and pressed his hot cheek tenderly against her soft palm.

For a second, Harry actually thought she was softening up under his intense gaze (however blurry it might have seemed at first), yet the moment was gone sooner than he was able to fathom. Ginny's look had, all at once, become deadly serious and somehow pained as if she was thoroughly regretting letting him touch her. She firmly withdrew her hand from Harry's hold, averted her gaze and sighed slightly. Breaking Harry's bubble of momentarily bliss, Ginny gestured her head towards the band which was still playing soulful songs in the corner of the hall.

"You have arranged this?" she asked with a small smile.

"Er... yeah," Harry answered a bit baffled, still not breaking his gaze from her captivating face. At the same time, he desperately tried not to reel too much due to one of the now more hard-hitting effects of the liquor.

"It sounds good." She waved her red hair back so that the glittering earrings appeared. Harry's eyes widened a bit at the sight, mentally kicking himself in order to keep cool. At least _outwardly_ cool.

"Dean?" Harry gestured towards the earrings, trying his best to sound nonchalant. Though, already knowing the answer, Harry couldn't help himself. His green monster had once again awakened from its fake slumber at the sight, and now adding the strong alcohol in his blood veins, it didn't quite benefit his growing temper.

"Yes, isn't he sweet? The ring came too." She turned the thin silver ring on her slim finger, but the forced smile she tried to plaster on her face vanished before it ever really settled. Her eyes got a hint of worry and she shot an anxious look at Harry, not knowing if she had gone too far already. She knew how much it nagged him. But wasn't that just what she wanted? To make him react?

Harry stared disbelievingly at her. She _knew_ how much it nagged him. Yet, she kept on doing it. Why? Harry didn't get it. He had explained it to her back at Dumbledore's funeral. She had understood and accepted it. Then why the torturing? And why – for crying out loud – had she picked Dean Thomas of all people to torture him with?, he thought, momentarily forgetting his self-rationalizing before she came up to him.

The tensed silence between them seemed to have thickened the air – suddenly it had become hard to breathe, and Harry couldn't help feeling that he got on the slippery slope without being able to get off. Without _wanting_ to get off. The whole Dean Thomas affair made him sick and besides Harry had always sucked at playing emotional ping-pong with Ginny. It wasn't like him to deliberately hurt his loved ones. Hell, it wasn't like Ginny to do so! And he could no longer keep his mouth shut about it. He had to break the ice sooner or later; however, as he finally did say it, the words seemed to come out much harsher than he had intended.

"So, Dean became the ultimate winner after all, huh?"

Ginny's striking eyes widened in shock at his words. She stared at Harry as if he had gone completely mad and he could only gulp nervously, avoiding her gaze, as he regretfully scolded himself for being so tactless. All right, for being such a downright jerk! He had said it himself: It was impossible for them to be together when Voldemort was still on the move. Yet, Harry wanted her. God, how he longed for her, and in that moment he would do anything, say anything, just to get some reaction or proof from her that told him she still loved him.

And boy, did he get a reaction! Ginny's eyes flashed with golden sparks and she violently, almost painfully grabbed his left arm and dragged him towards a darker, more secluded corner in the room, with Harry stumbling after her in surprise and wonder – and not to say, a bit amused. Finally! The old Ginny was back, filling out the void he had had inside himself for such a long time while being without her. He could only look adoringly and lovingly at her flustered face and blazing eyes half hidden in the shadows, half brightened by the light from the side as she lectured him on how much she _actually_ cared for Dean and reminded him – while she poked a finger at his chest – that it was actually _him _that had ditched _her_ to begin with and so on.

Harry couldn't help smiling like a madman while she continued getting more and more agitated and short of breath, blaming him for all sorts of trivial things, as it only enhanced how beautifully she looked and how strong she really felt for him. Of that he knew now. He had finally caught her red-handed, and he was glad of it, because he really didn't feel up to continuing this game of quarrelling ex-lovers any longer. He didn't have the strength any more, and with Ginny standing so close to him with red lips and cheeks, flashing eyes, a plunging neckline and her strangely intoxicating, but all too familiar scent, his body was definitely in a state of inferiority. He had a hard time controlling his limps ever since he first saw her enter the party – which was not only caused by the alcohol – and even if he had somehow managed to leave her alone this evening, he wasn't sure he would ever forget how she looked tonight. It was a sight he could live on for the rest of his life, as a matter of fact. Licking his lips, he swallowed hard, collecting all his remaining wit and control and took one, long and concentrated look into her brown eyes which she somehow registered in the midst of her outrage and stopped short, heaving for air.

Ginny gazed bewildered back, not immediately realizing what look he was giving her, until she felt something beginning to stir in her lower abdomen; a burning feeling that turned into a warm, fuzzy fire and made her legs go weak and her heart and thoughts run wild. The last time she had felt like this was when she had kissed Harry goodbye and now she was reliving the moment, filled with pain, love and desire, spreading through her body before she could gain control of it. She suddenly felt she had moved closer – dangerously closer – to his body in the last couple of minutes and her eyes became transfixed with his intense gaze that seemed to speak everything. Harry's eyes then travelled down and became transfixed with her red, plumb lips. The heat between them seemed at the point of explosion if nothing came for release. Their breathing had gone heavy and their heads were only inches apart, making their minds dizzy as they were eating each up with looks and signals beyond words. All this time apart had finally come to an end, and they couldn't deny it any longer. All the rationalizations, logic arguments and excuses for them to be apart didn't matter – they all seemed to melt away at that very moment. The attraction, the love was still there and even Voldemort and a thousand Deatheaters couldn't keep it away.

Barely registering his own moves, Harry's hand stretched and reached for her, gently brushing her left breast through the fabric of her silky dress before grapping her torso, pushing her against him, which sent the most electrifying vibrations through them both and in one shift, yet unanimous move their heads and lips met in a symphony beyond banal proclamations of love. Everything seemed to crash with that move where hands, bodies and mouths conjoined and they fell literally against each other, sliding down the wall to the floor, overcome with long suppressed longing and emotions. They couldn't stop touching each other, savoring every piece and bit of one another, relishing in the feelings of what they for so long had imagined would be like to touch and be touched by the other one. It was more than they could bear, and if it wasn't for the fact that the party was still at its height and the people passed right by their little corner (without yet noticing the dark spot where they were hiding), they might not have been able to stop themselves.

Harry was the first to realize this fact (which he was rather amazed at since he was now more 'drunk' than ever, being with Ginny) and with more regret than he could fathom he managed to tear his mouth away from Ginny's intoxicating one. He looked down into her brown, beautiful eyes, which she slowly opened and the hazed, adoring look that met him was enough to lit another fire inside of him. He was on the point of giving in to these eyes and those swollen lips right under his own once more, and his body and heart screamed for him to do so, but somehow he managed to remind himself of what would happen next; that he wouldn't be able to control himself _at all_ if he did so. She was just too tempting, too alluring to break away from once he started again. He loved her to pieces and he wouldn't do that to her; not here, not now. They still had a lot to talk about and sort out, before they could give themselves completely to each other. Gosh, where did all this rational preaching suddenly come from? He was more groggy than he ever remembered being before (given the fact that he wasn't prone to drinking ever before), and with this soft, lovable red-haired creature of his heart lying willing in his arms, he should be daft if he could even think straight right now! Well, maybe the Acid-shot was finally having its downside effect, after all, because his stomach and head seemed to protest rather vigorously now, and he needed to stand up.

"Ginny," he kissed her mouth softly, trying to get her attention through her dreamy, hazed state in his arms. "Ginny," he tried again, a loving smile spreading across his face as he carefully touched her cheek and then gently shook her a bit.

"Mmmh …" she mumbled through her lips as she came dangerously close to his lips again, yet this time he managed to send her a grin and instead slowly lifted her up with him. Wobbling a bit, she finally came to her feet while clinging to him and she couldn't help laughing herself as her wit returned through the haze. What an ideal situation they had placed themselves in; of all places, of all times! Well, she couldn't exactly blame it all on him this time. After all, it wasn't entirely all his fault they had ended up on the floor, though he did gave her _that look _and she _had_ been trying to rationalize and tell him something very - oh, well, she hardly remembered what she was going to say anyway; everything got blurred once he'd looked at her and kissed her. She sighed heavily, yet with a satisfied, eased feeling in her chest that she hadn't felt for a long, long time. She looked at the dark-haired boy she once came to know as "The Boy Who Lived", a boy which quickly became much more than a legend in her heart – now a man who stood fully in front of her with loving crinkles at the corners of his green eyes, locked on hers. Yes, he had been in a somewhat pitiful, drunken state all evening and hadn't exactly become any more sober now than he was before, but his kiss wasn't a mindless drunkard's sloppy kiss; it had held meaning beyond the words he couldn't get over his tongue in his present state and she understood what he so desperately wanted to say to her. Because she felt the same. Of course, she did. Why else would she go back to a person like Dean? Why else would she bring him to this particular party where a particular person of her heart would also be? She wasn't the desperate, lovesick puppy sort of type, who resorted to desperate measures to get the attention she wanted (neither was Harry, she knew), yet she knew she couldn't live her life without Harry until he _some day_ had killed Voldemort. Reason wasn't one to be trifled with in these sorts of matters; of course she risked her life in doing so but she also knew how to defend herself – just as well as any of her brothers (maybe even better) and nearly as well as Harry. He just had to accept that. She was _also_ his friend and his friends were there when he needed them. She would be there. Not in some distant place where she had been hidden away to keep her safe. She wanted to be with him when this was all over, no matter if he or she or they all died in the process – which of course, in her mind, still was an unthinkable thought however possible it might be. After all, if she was ever going to be his wife in the future, she might as well start now and demand a part in the decision-making too.

Harry looked intently at her, trying to decipher the many emotions and thoughts running across her face until he saw a sudden determination hardening her eyes, looking raw and passionately at him, and he realized then that she had made up her mind. It didn't really surprise him though; he somehow knew this would happen eventually back when he got his 'old Ginny' back as she had pulled him into the corner to tell him off. He knew that he couldn't escape from her confrontation now – not that he didn't want to, he just never really looked forward to it – and wouldn't stand a chance against what was coming next. His words back at Dumbledore's funeral had held sense, yes; after all, he had done it for _her_ – to protect her, but it nevertheless hurt as hell. And he realized that it had perhaps hurt Ginny even more; that it had seemed like a break of trust and respect. She had felt it as if he didn't believe she would be able to defend herself or that he felt some need to save her which he couldn't promise to do when time came. She had felt degraded, dismissed and without any saying in the matter, and in reality she was as much a friend to him as Hermione and Ron were (really she was so much more), and after all, _they _had had more than one saying in his choices and fights through the years – more so now than ever. Why shouldn't Ginny be a part of that, too? Could he really dismiss her just because of how they felt towards each other? After all, he didn't want to lose Ron and Hermione any more than he wanted to lose her, and still he let _them_ fight side by side with him.

As Ginny watched realization and understanding slowly dawn on Harry's face, she couldn't help smiling sympathetically at this. No matter how incredible and legendary he was and how many times he had faced Voldemort and come out alive again, he still was a bit slow at some points. But it only made him more human, more Harry to her, and that was why she loved him so.

He was just about to say something, but she stopped him with a finger on his lips, standing on her toes and kissed the tip of his nose, then took his hand and gave him a smile that said all that needed to be said. Confidently she led him out of the shadows and into the buzzing, lit-up hall and for a moment it was if they had stepped out of a bubble of their own intimate space of confidence and bliss and into the harsh reality of life. Momentarily, Ginny stopped short, her breath caught in her throat. Then she suddenly felt a comforting squeeze at her hand and she looked back at Harry who was standing next to her, smiling knowingly at her, carrying a meaning beyond words, and it gave her all the confidence she needed.


	4. Chapter 4: Super-Comforting Snotlets

**Chapter 4 - Super-Comforting Snotlets**

It was past midnight before most of the guests had gone home, and the main parts of the hall looked like something dragons had ravaged. Fred and George's bar had turned out to be a total success (despite the rather infelicitous cases during the night, most likely results from their effective mixtures) and the twins who had shaken, stirred and delivered tons of drinks all night were now sleeping soundly on the floor, leaning against each other between a pile of empty bottles.

That night Harry went off to bed with his stomach full of pixies and thundering head- and heartache that nearly drowned all other rational thinking. It would be the understatement of the year if he said that he was surprised by the turn of events this particular night. Not only had he began resorting to drinks (which hopefully wouldn't become a habit!), he had also ended up with another man's fiancé in his arms (although, he ultimately considered Ginny _his_). Not that he minded the latter so much. It had been a rush of old and new sensations and memories when they had kissed; and in that very second, they had both jumped on a thrilling, nonetheless dangerous rollercoaster ride. A ride of emotions and alcohol that had left him staggering on his feet back towards his hotel room after having said sweet goodnights to Ginny at her door.

Harry stopped short, reeling for a moment, and grasped his head, squeezing his eyes shut, as a jolt of painful, early signs of a hangover shot through his head; mixing with images of _her_. His whole body seemed to prickle with an unquestionable feeling of … love. An all-consuming love; slowly burning up his bones from the inside. He was still trying to grasp the sense of utter submission to his own feelings; feelings he had buried deep inside himself since he started focusing on the mission to get hold of the Horcruxes. It all seemed so long ago.

Harry groaned. He _knew_ it was impossible to bind himself to Ginny so soon; despite everything that had happened between them this evening, he still held on to his initial conviction that she was his only true weakness, as well as his strength. If Voldemort ever got to her, he would never be able to forgive himself for acting foolish for even a second. Which in the end was the reason for letting her go tonight – admittedly, very reluctantly – and retire to sleep with his own turbulent thoughts. Right now, however unlikely it seemed, he needed a cool, steady head to find the Horcruxes, destroy them and by that Voldemort.

At the thought of the risk he actually put Ginny in this very moment by exposing her to his reciprocated feelings (hell, just by being in the same room as her!) the pixies in his stomach took an icy turn. Voldemort had eyes everywhere, not to mention his loyal Deatheaters mingling with ordinary wizards and witches (and even Muggles) at every given chance, and making merciless use of the Imperius Curse on those who were too weak. Who knew; some of the guests at the party this evening could have been under the Curse. Maybe some _had_ seen Ginny and him together – even in their dark corner – and had already reported it or made devious plans beyond their own control?

Suddenly Harry felt an anxious urge to go back and tell Ginny about his suspicions and make her leave the hotel as quickly as possible. On the other hand, he knew that she was more than capable to defend herself (she'd even surpassed her brothers at several occasions), and that she – just like Hermione – always had a surprise spell or two in the back of her mind when all hope seemed lost. She knew how dangerous it was to be with him; that he couldn't always be there and that she wouldn't risk asking for the help of her loved ones, putting their lives at risk as well. On that point, she was just too scared, too brave, _too damn stubborn_ to do anything less; exactly like Harry himself would..!

Then why couldn't they be together if their situations were so alike? If their minds and hearts seemed so synchronized?!

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to make his thoughts stand more clear and decisive. However, the alcohol had done its final deed for tonight and made everything frustratingly blurry. Not to mention numb. Oh, he felt his head and heart alright, yet everything else seemed sort of bland and outside his field of vision. He only hoped none of his enemies would turn up right now, then he'd stand no chance to defend himself properly, much less point his wand at the right direction. Ironically, he chuckled a bit at the thought. He couldn't help himself. If there was any night that 'The Golden Trio' would stand most defenseless it would be this night. Actually, the Deatheaters would be pretty daft if they hadn't already taken advantage of the situation. But then again, they weren't the smartest of people either. Harry laughed to himself, only then realizing that it was properly the first time he'd actually made a joke at the expense of Voldemort's followers. Oh, well, he could only blame it on the giddiness of the liquor. Not that he was the only who had behaved strangely this evening.

Speaking of which, what exactly had happened between Ron and Hermione? They had each left the party pretty early, all considering, and not particularly in a good mood. Suppose they had been fighting? Of course, the scenario wasn't new to him, but Harry had felt something different in the air tonight. As if there finally wasn't anymore air to take out of the balloon. Perhaps they simply couldn't cope with being at each other's throats any longer?

Nah, that was an even stranger thought, he admitted to himself, a bit surprised. It was almost impossible to imagine his two best friends being anything but conscious of each other's flaws, bickering and bantering about silly things – as they always had, even when things were awkward between them. Silence and misery would actually be the worst thing – and especially now when the strength of their relationship was crucial if they should stand any chance against what was coming. And he was sure it wouldn't be anything like what they've experienced so far.

Harry sighed, his head getting heavier by the minute. Yet, he knew what he had to do. Although, it was the last thing he wanted to do right now, getting mixed up in more emotional turmoil and especially considering his current state, he knew he had some role to play – and thus a responsibility – in Ron and Hermione's relationship. He didn't want it to fall out no matter how awkward things were to become, good or bad. In the end, what was most important was their mission. Then they could deal with the other stuff afterwards. If there was ever to be an afterwards…

Grudgingly, Harry changed direction, and instead of heading towards his own room, he went down the quiet hallway to his right and walked up to the room which he (almost certainly) remembered to be Ron's. It was albeit a bit late and considering Ron's heady night, he was probably already sound asleep, but Harry had to try anyway.

He knocked a bit feebly at the wooden door and waited a couple of minutes without getting any response. He sighed, already starting to regret, then tried again, this time a bit louder. Then he heard a faint sniffling from the other side, some commotion and footsteps and then the click of the door opening and a blotchy, freckled face appearing cautiously, yet expectantly out from behind it.

"Oh, it's you," Ron sighed as he saw Harry, his face crestfallen, as he swung the door open and let him into his room.

"You expected someone else?" Harry asked, already knowing the answer, as he took in Ron's utterly depressed state and red, puffed-up eyes and nose.

"Huh! Who do you think?" Ron's head hung low as he turned away from him, dragged himself a couple of feet towards his bed and threw himself on it, his face hidden in the pillow.

Harry, still feeling the weight of his head between his shoulders, couldn't help sighing resigned at Ron's dramatic gesture. Should he always be like that? However, now that he was here, he might as well try and lighten up the mood – or at least throw some light on the evening's events. At any rate, then to make Ron stop the sniffling.

He studied his surroundings. The dark, barren room clearly had an imposing magnitude to hold at least a minor ball, if it wasn't for the somber and dank atmosphere that was more suited for a werewolf. Very different from his own small and plushy room, and not exactly a place where he would like to spend the night alone. Especially not if one was in Ron's mood right now.

However, Ron didn't seem to take any notice of this – or anything else at the moment – and Harry felt a bit at a loss. Yet, if he knew Ron right he just needed a moment or two before he started crying his heart out. Meanwhile, Harry decided to throw himself in the nearest of the enormous, old winged armchairs by the even bigger fireplace, where the fire was slowly dying. A decision which only made his head throb for a couple of long, regretful minutes. As he recovered he stared over at Ron who still laid facing down the bed, getting a bit fed up with his rather childish behavior by now.

"Come now, Ron. It can't be all that bad..?" Harry sighed out loud, hoping he at least hadn't fallen asleep yet.

After a while, however, Ron stirred, lifting his heavy head and stared into space.

"Oh, you mean, not that bad that I've thoroughly humiliated myself in front of everybody by getting myself completely sloshed, and then acting shamelessly, behaving like a whiny drama queen after being hit and dumped by one girl and then run down by another?" He made a torturous grimace and faced his pillow once more, mumbling something about getting The Ass of the Year Award.

Harry groaned and arched back his sore skull. "Would you stop the self-pitying for a moment! It's really pathetic to watch, you know!"

"Hmph! I thought that self-pity was supposed to be pathetic," came the gruff answer.

Harry rolled his eyes and continued to watch his friend making strange, frustrated noises into the pillow. What could he say that would make him feel any better? Right now, he seemed rather inconsolable. Well, at least he could try to sort this mess out, even though he knew that its roots were much more tangled and went much deeper than just this evening's events.

"Ron, just tell me what happened. Have you said or done something to Hermione – or she to you – since it has come to this? Something else, more hurtful, than all the other times?"

Ron's head shot up from the pillow with a bizarre bobbing motion, and he stared indignant back at Harry. "What-what do you mean by that? I haven't done anything to her – I never have, as a matter of fact! It's her! She's just out of her mind, that's all. I mean – why did she react so strongly tonight – I-I don't know – it's not like I broke a promise or anything –"

"RON - WHAT - HAPPENED?!" Harry interrupted impatiently.

Ron shot him a dazed and shameful look and pulled himself up from the bed. He rubbed his nose, bent down and pulled out something looking very similar to a package of ordinary handkerchiefs from under the bed. However, in the moment he blew his nose in one of them, it turned into a canary yellow color, started flapping it sides and as Ron finished and let it go, it started flying around the room until it landed in the trashcan in the corner of the room. Soon he had used a whole package and the room was for a moment filled with yellow birdlike handkerchiefs fluttering confused around him in search of the trashcan.

Without looking up, Ron solemnly gestured towards them. "It's one of Fred and George's newest inventions: 'Super-Comforting Snotlets'. They're quite creative, right?" he sniffed shiftless. "The only problem is," he started wriggling and rubbing his nose again, "they only make your nose scratch even more until you – you –" He sneezed loudly and rather violently several times in a row, until Harry didn't think Ron's face could get much redder or much more snotty and miserable to look at.

Harry sighed once again, reluctantly starting to feel sorry for him. After all, he didn't know _exactly_ who was to blame for this mess in the first place, and Ron looked like he already had his fair share of scolding for one night, so Harry couldn't very well begin making presumptions and assume Ron was the only one to blame. And when it came to Ron and Hermione he _never_ knew who started first. In the end it takes two to make a quarrel. He hadn't seen Hermione behave stupidly; yet, when he saw her at the party, her state of appearance wasn't one to be taken lightly. And when she stormed out of the room, one could only fear what she would do; go to a corner and cry her eyes out or lash out verbally or physically (or magically) on anything or anybody nearby. She could very well have sought out Ron after he'd went to bed and asked for an explanation or get her frustrations out on him. And Ron wasn't the best option handling Hermione's emotional eruptions, to say the least, much less to the fact that he often was the cause of it.

Harry's mind was suddenly filled with a load of images of how things could have escalated between them if so, and that it couldn't have been a pretty outcome. He rubbed his eyes and grunted. Why did it always have to be so difficult between them? Why did it always have to end up like this? He really didn't have the patience to play the go-between much longer if they kept up making these rather embarrassing scenes. He wasn't exactly a saint himself (tonight had clearly proven that), but he didn't just keep on playing this punishing game of stubborn pride and hidden emotions that none of them would care to admit.

He was rather conflicted whether or not he was supposed to speak of the unspoken between them, since their stubbornness apparently wouldn't allow themselves to do such thing. He felt very uncomfortable, feeling like he was intruding on an area best left solved by the ones inflicted, yet he couldn't help feeling inflicted himself. How was he to deal with this matter? He was their best friend, they had stood by each other through thick and thin all their lives and would undoubtedly continue to do so, but now he felt the matters of adulthood pressing ever so firmly on his shoulders, the understanding of feelings not to be taken lightly and the consequences which follow. All that, together with an almost childlike ambivalence towards the utter silliness of the matter and natural question: "Why don't they just make up and get it over with so everybody can be happy?". However, it was easier said than done when it came to Ron and Hermione. And Harry wasn't entirely sure they would be happy just so. It _would_ lift a heavily load of distrust, jealousy, frustration and bitterness off their shoulders and certainly lighten the air around them and everybody in their presence, but that they should run around being all smiley and gooey and 'living-happily-for-the-rest-of-their-days'-like was not a very realistic thought in Harry's head. At least not at the present moment – and certainly not in the nearest future (which brought even fever positive prospects to the idea of playing go-between). Well, nothing ventured; nothing gained, after all.

About half an hour later, Ron had explained – with many sniffling halts – to Harry what had happened after Hermione had knocked on his door.

"I don't know, Harry," Ron said with a despondent voice. "You know how proud and stubborn Hermione can be. I'm pretty sure she won't ever talk to me again. Not before I'm on my deathbed probably."

Harry sighed. Sometimes Ron had the tendency to overdramatize – especially when it came to matters that always somehow solved themselves. Eventually.

"Now, Ron," Harry patted him friendly on the back. "I think I've seen you behave just as proudly and stubbornly at several occasions, especially when it comes to Hermione." Harry raised a telling eyebrow towards his lost friend who only looked up at him questioningly, until it slowly dawned on his face what Harry was referring to.

"Oh, well," Ron huffed offended. "I've never _really_ been affected by those incidents. It was just – just friendly bantering, nothing more. I was just _pretending_ to be insulted by what she said. She never _really_ got to me. I mean – I_ didn't let her_ get to me."

"Right."

Ron grimaced at him, but this time Harry couldn't help smiling.

Ron looked down again and fumbled with piece of the floral bed linen, his jaw set. "Actually, I'm not really that sad about tonight, Harry. I mean, it could have gone a lot worse! And you know, Hermione and me always go out with a bang." A second after, his head shot up, looking mortified. "Oh, come on, Harry! I didn't mean it like that..!"

Harry didn't know if he should laugh or keep it cool, but there was something about Ron's serious look that made him momentarily forget the little innocent innuendo. He sensed that tonight hadn't been 'just one of those times'. Not this time.

He chewed a bit on the matter.

"So you got her real upset tonight, huh?" He said calmly.

"Yeah."

"And you don't know why –"

"Of course I know why! I know I screwed up! As I always do! I just don't get why she has to make such a big deal about it. I mean, we've been through this over and over again since we've been what – eleven!? I'm sick of it. I'm sick of it, Harry, and it's killin' me to be like this and to see _her_ like this, you know?"

Harry, knowing exactly what he meant, patted his shoulder, sensing the desperation simmering in Ron. But what could he possibly say to make it all better? If only he knew how to make sense of it all himself, he might be of some use. As if he hadn't already enough to deal with regarding finding the last Horcruxes, though. _And_ if this turned out to be just one of those passing fancies as usual, after all, there was not much he _could_ do, but let it play out. Oh well, he was never one for those big, dramatic rows, anyway. He always felt terribly awkward in such matters. Maybe it was better to just let them solve it themselves in the end. Maybe just wait for the morning to come to soothe the wounds. Or should he go talk to Hermione? Should he tell _Ron_ to go and make up with Hermione? Judging from Ron's state of appearance so many hours after the row, it probably wasn't the best idea right now, though.

"Maybe you just need a good night's rest, Ron." Harry tried soothingly, gratefully sensing an emotional as well as physical fatigue from tonight's events starting to hit Ron's eyelids. He looked more than complying with his proposal, to say the least. "You'll see; it'll all seem much clearer in the morning." Harry sincerely doubted that himself, but right now he'd say anything to get Ron to go to bed, not to mention himself.

"Well – alright, you might be right." Ron yawned and then fell towards the pillow again, but this time with a more serene – or rather exhausted – look on his face. He still looked disturbingly dejected and strained – even in his slumber, which once more confirmed to Harry the seriousness of what had happened between him and Hermione tonight.

As Harry snuck out from the dark and clammy room to the sound of Ron's distinctive snore, the giant clock in the hallway struck four o'clock in the morning. He yawned violently, stretching his arms and back, his sore muscles shuddering a bit in the cold air of the hallway and felt his head once more ring from the effective alcohol he had consumed only hours ago. Had it really only been hours ago? The time he had spent at Ron's had seemed like forever. _This entire night_ had seemed like forever. Everything was as quiet as a grave around him, everyone probably sound asleep in their warm beds. Everyone else but him. Well, maybe Hermione was also still up? He probably should go look and see if she was alright. His head and body definitely protested to this idea, but he couldn't just ignore her now when he had been to see his other best friend. She was likely just as, if not more, upset by tonight's event as Ron was. Who knew what she had been doing between now and then? A thought that very much frightened Harry. Even if she _was_ asleep, he just had to check to make sure.

So, in the end, instead of going to his own cozy slumber, getting under the warm covers and rest his sore head for the few remaining hours of the night, he padded sleepily down the long hallway, rounded the right corner and continued down the next, steering towards Hermione's quarters.


End file.
